


Little Tales

by GlyphArchive



Category: Hindu Religions & Lore, Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: Bonding, Curiosity, Developing Friendships, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Marriage of Convenience, Not A Fix-It, Rebuilding, Shenanigans, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:11:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 7,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlyphArchive/pseuds/GlyphArchive
Summary: In myths there's sure to be lives that slip out of general regard and viewing interest. The stars and background characters still have lives to lead, even when the limelight has already moved on.
Relationships: Abhimanyu/Uttara(Mahabharata), Arjuna (Mahabharata)/Krishna (Hindu Religions & Lore), Mohini/Iravan (Mahabharata)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	1. Pleasantries - Manu & Matsya

“I am…” Manu hesitates, considering the look of novel enjoyment on his companion’s face as Matsya wiggled newfound toes. “I’m somewhat confused.” He finishes at last, clearing his throat as delicately as he can. It’s somewhat startling to have watched the fish he’d saved (who’d saved him, his family, and all the remaining human race in exchange) hop up onto shore and take the form of a man. 

Perhaps it shouldn’t be, considering that he’s repeatedly helped that same fish (now a man!) several times before. And they’d exchanged many conversations besides - should he really draw the line at a fish turning into a man when that fish had been a god all along and could talk as well as any other person? Was that disrespectful?

“About what?” Matsya lifts his gaze and his dark eyes are warm, curious. He smiles and Manu could almost believe it to be guileless, if not for the twinkle of humor in his stare. “I would be happy to explain, if you wish to ask your questions.”

It _sounded_ like a genuine offer.

“Well…” It’s hard to look at him directly and he is tempted to offer the other something to wear, since Matsya’s transformation had left him nude as a babe. “Won’t you be needed? In the heavens, or wherever it is you must return to? I’m grateful of course, that you would consider being my friend still, but I wouldn’t wish to keep you from anything important.”

“Oh no,” Matsya chuckles, and it is entirely too knowing a sound. “Nothing important. We have time, after all, for the world to rebuild. Unless you wish for me to _leave_ , that is?”

“No - “ Manu assures hurriedly, “Not at all. It would be a pleasure to have you as my guest. After all, we are friends yes?”

Matsya smiled, brilliant and wide; Manu hoped that it would not lead to any more shenanigans by the river.


	2. Union - Mohini & Iravan

“Is it not what you’d hoped for?” Krishna - no, Mohini, asks and Iravan considers them with a thoughtful stare. A smile had begun playing across his wife’s mouth as soon as they were alone, but Iravan was no closer to deciphering the reason for it even after they’d become familiar with one another.

“More, I suppose.” He replied somewhat guardedly, lifting some of his wife’s hair from the pillow and examining the tresses. “Part of me is surprised you said yes at all. You, of all people, must know what will occur tomorrow.”

Their gaze darkened a little and Iravan felt a degree of satisfaction in the look he was being given. Like he was being rebuked for bringing it up, and yet adored nonetheless.

“I do.” They answered, soft and decisive. The hand that drew him closer had no scales nor scars, his bride smelled enticingly of jasmine and amrit. “I see no reason why that should stop me. I love you regardless. _You_ , of all people, should know that.”

“Then you are cruel to yourself.” Iravan mused, before obliging them with a kiss.

Naga did not fall in love easily, were not typically known for showing softer emotions to begin with. There was only a single night for the two of them to know one another, and that would be it.

But if his bride wanted to put that knowledge away for now in preference for passion, he did not mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been fascinated by Iravan/Aravan's tale for a while. And Mohini's. It's a shame they don't have more material.


	3. Stress Fracture - Vrishaketu, Uttaraa, Subhadra

Although only the women’s quarters were forbidden to him, Vrishaketu avoided traversing much of Hastinapur’s palace alone. When his father had been alive they had visited frequently and, as the youngest of his siblings, Vrishaketu had been allowed a certain amount of freedom in wandering. Enough to have a passable map in his mind of where things were, what rooms he could venture into and how not to embarrass himself. But it was the emptiness that turned him wary – though his new uncles had never spoken an unkind word to his face they were no replacement for his father, or Duryodhana, nor the ninety-nine brothers who had been like uncles to him in their own right.

But his mothers’ wanted privacy and he could not bring himself to step into Hastinapur’s court, where surely the Emperor and Empress would be; and the kitchens would be loud and busy, to say nothing of the stables. Though he was not as fond of horses as his brothers had been, even the Madras twins’ company felt like it would be too much right then.

It came as a shock then, to enter a hall and see none other than the princess of Dwarka and her daughter-in-law; Parikshit a bundle of cloth in his mother’s arms. Vrishaketu froze, mouth dry, and when the lady Subhadra’s eyes turned towards him he wanted nothing more than to disappear.

Perhaps the earth would swallow him up, if she were gracious.

(She was not)

Uttara froze as well, instinctively holding her son close to her chest as she eyed him. They weren’t so far apart in age, he realized. Vrishasena, his eldest brother and only a little over twenty, would have affectionately called her sister and given her anything she wanted without thinking of it. Maa Vrishali would have taught her how to patch a wound and Maa Supriya might have stolen her away on some days to instruct her on playing the veena.

“Pardon me.” The words flew out his mouth before he could think of better ones and Vrishaketu ducked his head in what he hoped passed for respectful. Uttara did not make him afraid, but Subhadra did. She and the Empress Draupadi were the ones he feared the most, besides whatever new turn his uncles’ tempers might take. “I lost my way, princess. It will not happen again.”

Uttara looked uncertain, when he worked up enough nerve to glance at her through his lashes.

(He did not dare to look at Subhadra, not unless she demanded it)

“It is no great offence.” Uttara’s soft voice surprised him. She looked like a quiet girl, but her voice was steady. “Hastinapuri is a great city, after all. I lose my way at times as well.” She tried to smile but it looked strained, and Vrishaketu fared no better when he tried to return it.

“May your day be pleasant, Princess.” He managed, then excused himself. It was not a run, but the urge was tempting.

Perhaps, in another life, they might have been something close to friends. Or at least acquaintances, given how frequently the Kurus had been called to Hastinapur; if relationships had been better between them all he did not doubt Duryodhana would have spoiled Uttara as any one of his beloved nieces.

Instead it was this, playing at avoidance while trying to stay in the bounds of politeness. His father and Partha had never been friends, and his father had been a chief reason for the famed Abhimanyu’s death at Kurukshetra. Vrishaketu had never seen Arjuna’s favorite son himself, only the aftermath when it had swept them all up and more blood had been drawn in revenge.

The gardens, at least, were safe and he could hide between any number of trees and count on the fact that none of his current relatives were fond of wandering outside under the noon sun.

He’d stay and wait, for a little while; until the conflicted guilt mixing in his stomach passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A headcanon I've had for a long time is that Vrishaketu is a tightly wound ball of stress, post-Kurukshetra. His father and brothers are dead, possibly both his mothers as well, and he's taken in by the people who are, to varying degrees, directly or indirectly responsible for those deaths. And he'll now live in semi-close quarters with Uttaraa (if, in this case, she survives Ashwatthama's attack) and Subhadra, both of whom were very close to the Pandavas' beloved Abhimanyu.
> 
> In my mind, he's absolutely terrified of Subhadra for a long time, partly because of Karna's part in Abhimanyu's death and the fear she'll demand revenge to be taken out on him because of the stigma left behind on his father's name.
> 
> Boy has issues and can't sleep, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.


	4. Links in a chain - Gandhari, Dushala, Bhanumati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set post Lakshmanaa's swayamvara.

“Your steps have changed.” Gandhari says after releasing her from a bone-jarring embrace, her hands smoothing over Dushala’s own; touching her hair, her face, the line of her shoulders and back. She keeps still under it, basking in the familiarity.

“I’ve had a child, Maa.” Dushala reminds her with a soft laugh, mindful that her mother is no fool and neither is Bhanumati; who now watches them both with tired, wistful eyes. “You know how it changes the body better than anyone. I admit, I’ve lost a little weight since the recovery; but I am well.”

Cold mornings hurt a little more than they used to and they make her hips and ankles ache. She has salves for such things, occasionally lingers in the sun when she can find a peaceful moment. With her husband gone on campaign or plotting his next attempt at bringing the Yadavas to heel, she can find a modest treasure of those moments; each one a precious layer of armor against the past, and now, the present.

Gandhari’s mouth thins, but she does not push. Not yet. Not before her Shiva, at least. “You sound well. Have you only just arrived?”

“Yes.” Dushala answers, taking her mother’s hand and reaching for Bhanumati’s as well. As though they were girls once more, not wives or queens. “The roads were clear and the weather fair. We made good time. My son sends his love, but he is with his father this spring and they are riding to an outpost in the north.”

An early spring snow might delay them, a little; but the true danger of winter had mostly passed. She could trust that Jarasandha would take measures to insure his son’s life, even if he would never do so for her own.

“Have you finished your prayers, Maa?” She smiled, ducking her head to kiss crimson-stained fingers. “If I might steal you away for a little, and Bhanumati too, I’d hoped to beg for news of my niece; unless the telling is a painful one.”

“It is quite a tale.” Gandhari mused, squeezing her hand the once. “I am not sure what to make of it myself. But I have time, now. Bhanumati,” she turned her head, pinpointing her daughter-in-law with relative ease. “Will you join us?”

Bhanumati chuckled, and her hand in Dushala’s was steady; her grip firm. “Yes.”


	5. Splint - Vrishaketu & Pradyumna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of chapter 3, Stress Fracture.

Vrishaketu felt himself be lightly shaken and reluctantly forced himself to wake, blinking up into the gloom at an unfamiliar face. The hand on his shoulder was light, warm, and from the figure crouched next to him Vrishaketu thought he could smell the sweetness of lotuses. He yawned before he could help it, drawing a laugh from his unexpected companion; then startled because the late hour finally registered in his mind.

“Good evening.” The stranger smiled at him, pitching his voice to sound kind. “Sit up slowly, you’ve been here for a while it looks like.”

Vrishaketu blinked again, pushing past the fuzziness of sleep. He hadn’t meant to drift off in the gardens at all – only to hide until he could think of something better to do or someone came looking to take the decision out of his hands.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, uncurling from his spot between two trees carefully. “Thank you, for waking me.”

“You’re not the first to fall asleep during a warm afternoon.” Came the gently teasing answer. “Can you stand? I’ll help, if you need it.”

Shaking his head Vrishaketu pushed himself up, swaying a little as he leaned against one of the trees for balance. The stranger got up as well; he stood almost a foot taller than Vrishaketu himself yet seemed to take up no space at all. Dressed in soft green, he nearly faded into the growing evening and had he not announced himself Vrishaketu suspected he might have missed the man entirely.

“Forgive me for asking,” better to pave the way with niceties, he supposed. “But who are you?”

Again, he was given a smile – though this one had some unspoken jest in it that Vrishaketu didn’t know how to place.

“Pradyumna,” was the answer, all in the same gentle voice that made Vrishaketu lower his guard a touch more than he would have otherwise. “We’ve not met before now, I think. And you?”

“Vrishaketu.” He should know the name his companion claimed, it felt like. Perhaps it was the lingering drowsiness clouding his senses that prevented him from recalling that name’s origin; why it nudged at his mind so. “Is it terribly late?”

“Dinner time.” Pradyumna mused, glancing towards the palace thoughtfully. “Or close enough. I doubt anyone would mind if you were late. You must be hungry after such a nap.”

His mothers’ would be upset with him if they knew he’d been out so long without a word. Guilt turned Vrishaketu’s stomach sour, then heavy. Even so, the oddly weightless feeling did not go away and he knew better than to chance going longer without something to settle his belly. He’d be sick in the morning, if he tried.

“Thank you for waking me. I’m sorry for the trouble.” Vrishaketu tried to smile, glancing up at Pradyumna’s profile gratefully.

The shape of his face was familiar, somehow; as though Vrishaketu had seen it just recently. Perhaps he had, since many had been coming and going through the palace as of late. But his mind refused to settle on any one impression and when Pradyumna looked back at him it was easy to focus only on the easygoing air which seemed to cling to him.

“No need for apologies.” Pradyumna shrugged, dark eyes twinkling. He had feathers in his hair, Vrishaketu realized; a handful of them. Dark green and short – much too short to be a peacock’s. A parrot’s, maybe? “You’d be surprised how many times someone in my family dozes off during midday and I’m sent to fetch them. If you do not mind a new acquaintance joining your table, we could share our dinner and avoid a scolding?“

"Of course.” Bleariness aside, there was no excuse for shunning the chance to make a new friend. He could hope, at least, that this might be a chance for such; even if Pradyumna did not tarry long in Hastinapur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canonly I figure Pradyumna is several years, maybe decades (?) older than Vrishaketu at this point; but I'm a sucker for unlikely friendships. And the thought of Pradyumna being sympathetic to those who've also gone through abrupt transplants of family/living situation wouldn't leave me alone, considering what he himself had gone through.


	6. Offence - Shishupala & Krishna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps this is one of Shishupala's many offences.

“Your mother was an ungrateful, traitorous sow; begetting a litter of disgusting rebels who would like to destroy the good of society.” Shishupala hisses, to the shock and horror of the assembled crowd.

The nobles sitting lower in the court may not have heard, but his cousins the Kurus and the Pandavas certainly did. Balarama and Subhadra did, each of them sitting ramrod straight as their features darkened with rage.

“My mother,” Krishna began slowly, the softness of his voice filling the entire assembly hall with no trouble. “Was an innocent woman, marrying a man who she thought would make her happy. A woman cursed by one who was supposed to love her, but could not look past his own paranoia to be a good and honest brother.”

“And my brothers who lived not more than a handful of breaths into their lives,” Krishna continued, eyes black and bottomless; for a moment full of stars. “Were more than what you give them credit for. None of us born from the line of Vasudeva and his wives are faint-hearted, you will find. A trait you could stand to learn, cousin.”


	7. Search and Rescue - Satyabhama & her co-wives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt Redamancy: act of loving in return. I do like to think Satyabhama got along with her fellow wives, even if we never see them interact together.

“It is not something which requires assistance.” Satyabhama points out, tone clipped, as she prepares a bag for travel. She has her bow and a full quiver, a knife tucked carefully within the folds of her clothes. It is not the first time she has ducked away from the halls of a palace and gone in search of one who needed to be reminded that not everyone was content to let innocents be harmed while more powerful individuals turned their eyes away. 

Perhaps the first time she has ever been truly _caught_ before she’s able to make some excuse, but Satyabhama feels confident that she can handle her sister-wives and turn their attention to something else. Or she _had_ , until Kalindi starts moving as well; taking down a spare rucksack and packing it with extra clothes, utterly serious.

And to Satyabhama’s dismay, Kalindi is hardly the only one. Nagnajiti returns with a sword at her hip and a bow on her back, accepting the dagger Mitravinda offers her with a tender smile.

“ _What_ are you doing?” Despite herself Satyabhama cannot help but stare, surprise raising the inflection of her voice.

“You will need help, _didi_.” Nagnajiti replies calmly, her hands as steady as their husband’s when he made a show of toying with his chakram before unwary visitors. “ _That_ is what we are doing.”

Kalindi nods, a satisfied look in her dark eyes. “It will be faster if all of us search for tracks left behind and you will be able to save your sight for when you need it. And I am familiar with the river,” she chuckles, low and soft. “Oh yes, I know the river well.”

Rukmini, the last person Satyabhama might have expected to look towards for assistance, only smiles. “Bhadra is saddling the horses as we speak. I have no doubt that when Jambavati returns she will be cross with us all for not including her, but what time we have is precious.”

Satyabhama blinks, willing herself to swallow past the lump forming in her throat. “It was my son’s foolishness which led to this mess. You do not have to go so far out of your way.”

“People often forget that it is not just our lord who can make the decision to take up a weapon.” Rukmini counters, the frown settling on her mouth unfamiliar in Satyabhama’s memory. “Chandrabhanu _is_ your son, but that does not mean we love him any less than our own.”

“And we will make certain that our family is brought home.” Nagnajiti concluded, squeezing Lakshmana’s hand in thanks as she passed over what would be their supplies for this journey. “Isn’t that right, my dear? Now, isn’t this the chance you’ve been wanting to show us the skill which felled Narakasura?”

A startled laugh found its way out of Satyabhama’s throat, though she couldn’t begrudge the smile which curved her mouth in its wake.

“Not like _this_.” Satyabhama admitted, her earlier confidence returning. “But it will do. Thank you - “

“No need.” Rukmini tells her softly, leaning in to press a light kiss to each of their cheeks. “Come home safe, my loves.”

“ _All_ of you.” Mitravinda and Lakshmana added pointedly, mirroring one another in their seriousness.


	8. Culture Shock - Pradyumna & Mayavati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt Lugent: weeping; mourning. We never get a real peek into what Pradyumna thinks or feels post return to Dwarka, but one would think it'd take some adjusting to. All of a sudden he has a family besides Mayavati - a huge one at that - and they all want some part of him that he's probably not sure he can provide.

It takes longer than he can nearly stand to left alone, allowed to slip away into his own rooms and seek relief from that which overwhelms him. Which, in this case, is currently _everything_. Dwarka is cradled by the sea and even within the palaces Pradyumna can catch its drifting scent every so often. It is the most familiar thing about this place. The most nostalgic, in a sense; because his previous home had also been near the sea and to look out and glimpse the waves is comforting.

Everything else – the flowers, music, the food and the crush of bodies all pressing in is too much and Pradyumna gladly flees from it as soon as decorum and his (new? original? rightful?) mother’s tears allow.

Hours ago, barely even a day in the past he’d just been a young man; though one who had been able to put a _rakshasa_ down from a throne of power. Even that, Pradyumna felt, was owed more to Mayavati’s teachings than himself. Had he gone against Sambara alone and on impulse, he would have been killed and thrown back into the ocean.

But now – _now_ he is supposed to be a _prince_ , of all things. Son of none other than Rukmini herself and Krishna, the slayer of so very many demons before he’d ever been a king; with a legion and more of brothers, sisters, half-siblings and cousins.

Wetness trickles down his face just as he rounds a corner, movements tight and controlled as one who is trying not to blindly flee might walk. Pradyumna brushes it away, only to find more eager to replace it. He has been crying, it seems, for longer than he’d realized; and some part of him wonders if that might have played a part in why his newfound family had finally released him for the night.

Worse, he finds, is the odd sense of _familiarity_ which reaches for him when he sets foot in the rooms put aside for his use. He stares through blurry tears at the walls, the furniture _(perhaps once meant for an infant, how could he know what might have been done with it?)_ and the ornaments that have been carefully arranged for decoration. It shouldn’t feel as though he knows this place, like he’s only stepped away for a moment and come back somehow aged; some internal fragment of his being settling into place when he’d only vaguely been aware it was misaligned.

Perhaps that is giving his memories of infancy too much credit and he is only confused; overwhelmed and picking at the threads of the story he’s been told over and over again now.

Either way he wants to hide himself from it until the world stops spinning and things make sense once again. He wants to be home, whatever that had meant, and be _himself_ ; not this grand figure which has been painted upon his arrival. This – this place, beautiful and grand as it is can only register as too much and he is in no frame of mind to appreciate it.

He flees the palace and disappears among the garden’s trees instead, instinctively tucking himself among the branches so that the leaves and flowers obscure him. Their scent is cleaner than the concentrated fragrance of the palace, going a ways towards clearing his head the longer he stays where he is. Eventually his crying subsides enough that he can hear the rustle of grass as someone moves below, a presence nearly as familiar as his own lingering.

“ _Swami_?” Mayavati calls softly, the sound of her voice alone tugging at him; coaxing him to come down and ease into the circle of her arms. Pradyumna can hear a note of worry in her tone; a hint of vulnerability that does nothing to dampen the impression he has of her.

Of course she would find him. She is the one who knows him best, after all.

_Not yet_ , he begs silently as he stays where he is. _Please don’t ask me to be him just yet._


	9. Possibility - Arjuna/Krishna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt Fallaciloquence: deceitful speech.

“We could leave.” Arjuna abruptly comments, drawing Krishna’s gaze up from the horses. His cousin slowly lifts a brow in question, encouraging him to continue as he strokes each horse’s mane and feeds them bits of jaggery. Arjuna himself can’t place what has him so unsettled now, only that the feeling has seized him and is reluctant to let him go. “We could go north,” he adds and reaches out to stroke one of the horses as well in the hopes it will calm him down.

“Or south.” Arjuna muses, uncharacteristically strained. “You’ve been to just about every corner of the world, and there are places I’ve not yet seen. It could be easy to disappear, you and I, when we’ve both done so before.”

Krishna’s mouth quirks. “It has been some time since we last dressed as brahmin. But that is not what you mean,” he adds, before Arjuna can counter him. “Would you only want to go north or south? There is much in the world that neither of us have seen yet, but we can only go so far before we must eventually turn back.”

He does not say, _and soon there will be a war to fight_ or _you promised to see this through._

“Would it be so terrible if we just went away?” Arjuna deflates, features twisting before they settle into a frown.

“No.” Krishna lies, finally moving away from the horses. “We could go now, and not once look back. Earn our keep by some means and greet each new day with wondering eyes. You could wander freely, without halting if you chose. I might stay a time in a village or two, before catching up.”

“For the cows, if there were any.” Arjuna joked weakly, attempting to smile.

He received a smile in return, though Krishna’s was considerably lighter. 

“I love cows.” Krishna shrugged. “And their company always cheers me.”

“I know.” Arjuna sighed, studying the ground and its patterns of loose grass. After a moment he added, “Our families would never forgive us.”

“Never.”

“You might at least humor me.” Arjuna murmured without heat. “Very well. Let us go home then, and prepare. We’ll simply have to dream another time, I suppose.”

Krishna said nothing, but helped him up into the chariot even though it wasn’t really needed. His hand lingered on Arjuna’s, squeezing once before letting go and then he was taking the reigns; pointing them towards the road.


	10. Cycle - Suryad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt Cosmogyral: whirling round the universe

There was _never_ enough time in the moment, it seemed. Eons passed while he crossed the heavens, circled Bhumi Devi’s domain; fighting back the dark so that life might flourish in the light. And yet in moments of desperation, few and far between as they might objectively be; it seemed too short and impossible to make use of. Not enough time to avoid the piercing cold of Shiva’s own trishula, to argue for his devotee before Narayana and Nara themselves, to push back against Ravana’s assault; or any of the other now half-remembered dire instances of his very long life.

Eternity had a curious way of being constant and unquestionable one moment before threatening to wink out before his very own eyes the next. Even when he had experienced his own death, it only felt as though he were allowed a brief interlude before being hauled right back to where he’d been; senses reeling with the sting of rebirth.

Shani, the son he’d denied upon his birth, had only given him a half-death with his curse. In the clash with Shiva it had been (and felt) more permanent. He’d gone to _Naraka_ and seen its depths for himself; left the heavens lightless and cold with his departure. And truly, those moments might have been eons themselves or no more than seconds.

He was not time itself and its measurement had only felt important in the most _fleeting_ of senses. The Sun was needed and he rose every morning, nearly without fail. He gave simply by existing, _charitable_ in what some argued could only be in the most basic, thoughtless sense; not out of any significant goodwill.

It did not matter in the end, Surya supposed. Until he grew to be as replaceable as Indra or another among the devas he would tug the Nine Planets about their orbit in his wake and lead his chariot against the heavens’ dark; Aruna, Ushas and the Ashvins beside him. And in turn he would be pulled along by choice or force at the whim of the Universe itself; either by Aditi or the ones above even her.

There was plenty of time, now, for routine to make him forget the rush of fear and sting of pain. Until it inevitably ran out again and he remembered, whether he wanted to or not.


	11. Game - Krishna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt Magastromancy: magical astrology

“There is no point to this.” Reyansh jeers, watching nonetheless as the cowherd glances from one chart to another; occasionally looking up at the sky as though he can peer beyond the sun and all its light to whatever else is up there. “You just look a fool. How can a little boy tell a man what will happen in his life? You’re what, ten? Eleven? Shouldn’t you be tending your herd?”

“My ladies are clever women.” The boy cheerily replied, clearly paying attention to something else. “And I trust in their judgment. You only wished to know your own fortune, yes? Not that of your father, or sister?”

A frown deepened the faint lines around Reyansh’s mouth, his eyes narrowing slightly. He’d never mentioned any family but himself to this cheeky brat; yet those carelessly light words nipped at him. Perhaps, he supposed as he shifted his weight, it was merely luck. A child assuming that _everyone_ had family somewhere, even if they traveled alone.

“My own.” He said at last, still suspicious. “There is no one else for me to worry about, after all.”

The boy’s lips twitched upwards with a smile and he lowered his gaze from the heavens after a moment. Like one who knew a secret he only said, “Of course.”

“Try and make it an _interesting_ lie, boy.” Reyansh added before the other could continue, propping an arm on his knee. “It is broad daylight. No one can see the stars well enough to _read_ them. Not even the most keen-eyed of sages.”

That earned him a laugh, short and good-natured as though he were being humored instead of the other way around. The boy cocked his head to the side, smile widening as he drummed his fingers on one of the charts.

“I suppose we shall have to change that, won’t we?”

Cool darkness replaced the ambient heat of the day Reyansh had grown familiar with, leaving him startled and blinking. Chilled, he looked up and felt his jaw slacken a little. In place of the sun there were stars, innumerable dots of light filling up every bit of available space.

“It seems as though you will be visited by a string of good fortune in the coming months.” The boy mused, running the pad of one finger over his borrowed charts. “You will avoid a flood and make enough profit to even out what was lost in your last venture through gambling. Going north will see a longed-for encounter take place. Doubling back to go south will cut potential profit and strife before they can take root.”

“Ah,” the boy smiled again, his eyes crinkling at the corners; wild curls of his hair seeming to lift and dance as though a breeze fondly plucked at them. “But you did not want to know of your father and sister, so I can say no more on the matter. Does that suffice, my friend? Or would you like to know more?”

Reyansh blinked, recalling how to breathe all at once. The sun continued its journey through the sky, too bright to look at directly. Clouds meandered across an endless expanse of blue; like the whole experience had only been a vision.

“I…” He began, then stopped. Swallowing and licking his lips nervously he tried again. “I believe that is enough.”

The cowherd’s boy perked up delightedly, beaming at him. “Two mangoes then, as we agreed?”

“Yes.” Reyansh answered distractedly, accepting the charts when the boy offered them to him and easing them back into their holders. Two mangoes was hardly worth quarreling over, at this point. He would leave them behind as promised and then take his leave, quick as he could.

Where he’d go, exactly, didn’t register. He didn’t care.

Krishna waved as Reyansh sped along the path leading back through the village, pleased with his earnings.


	12. Questions - Krishna & Abhimanyu

“Partha…” Krishna trailed off, pretending that he did not feel Abhimanyu’s elbow accidentally dig into his side. His mouth formed a thoughtful line as he studied the clouds passing overhead, relishing the breeze which trickled through the air. “What would you like to know of him?”

Abhimanyu shifted restlessly, so very eager to commit any mention of his absent father to memory. Finally youthful impatience won out over careful consideration and he blurted, “Anything.”

Krishna waited, practically able to hear the boy wince at the sound of his own voice.

“Just…” Abhimanyu trailed off in a lower voice, hesitant. “You knew him best, everyone says. The two of you were close as one another’s shadow, at times.”

They’d been closer, in truth, but Krishna let that morsel of information stay where it was; in his mind and well away from his companion’s ears.

“Partha is not always a man of many words.” He offered instead, folding an arm beneath his head and humming. “He can be intense and some find him intimidating for it. He dislikes liars but is not above lying himself, when provoked correctly.”

Abhimanyu stiffened at his side, disbelieving and somewhat righteously angry on his unknown father’s behalf.

“He would love you the instant he set eyes upon you.” Krishna told him, to soothe that spark of temper before it got out of hand and because it was true. “In all times where you have heard of his name, he turns yours around in his mind and marvels at the potential it holds.”

Abhimanyu sank back against the grass, mollified for the moment. “But…” The word weighed like a stone in his mouth. “ _Pita_ doesn’t know me. How can he love me, then?”

“People can love the ideal in their minds as much or more as the ones in their hearts.” Krishna replied, aware but not remorseful of the hurt such a statement might cause. “Partha does not know you yet, but he knew of you when your mother carried you in her belly and loved the thought you might be born and grow into your life. It was you that set a spark of hope into his eyes. And you,” Krishna added wistfully, “he thinks of most of all when he must remind himself why it is important to continue.”

“Not mother?” Abhimanyu asked with surprise, sitting up to peer down at Krishna. “Not to avenge Maa Draupadi and take back their home?”

Krishna looked at him slowly, taking in the shape of his little face; how wide and dark his eyes were. The messy bunch of curls that no amount of combing would ever be able to tame.

Reaching up, he caught Abhimanyu’s nose between his fingers and gently squeezed to distract him from the sadness in his own voice. “Revenge is a cold bed partner, I’m afraid. And it does not make the passing years easier to bear. Better to think of holding a loved one, no? To feel their warmth with your own hands than imagine steel or worse.”

Abhimanyu grumbled, shying away once Krishna let up and allowed him freedom. He was pouting; young and too recklessly aching for the future to hurry along so he could figure these things out for himself.

“He loves me?” Abhimanyu ventured after he’d rubbed his nose enough to quiet its protesting, not looking at his uncle who’d gone back to staring past the sky. “Truly?”

“Yes.” Krishna answered softly, blinking quickly. “Yes, he does.”


	13. Parody - Samba & Vijaya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt, Cacozealous: imitating badly

“And should not all men love one another, bask in their flaws and virtues with acceptance?” Samba parrots sweetly, moving his hand in a sweeping gesture. “Isn’t that the first step recognizing those very things in ourselves, rather than believing each of us to be without fault?”

It’s a decent play on their father’s words and Samba even manages to look the part to some degree. Reclining on his side, dark eyes half-lidded and his mouth curved up into a smile one could almost be forgiven for thinking him a younger Krishna; likely up to plotting some future mischief. The illusion held up better if one did not count the mockery turning Samba’s features subtly cruel, if none looked too closely at the coldness of his eyes.

Vijaya, tucked to the side and for the moment safe from his elder brother’s attention, wrinkles his nose.

“Father says we should be kind,” he counters, “not that we should take someone else’s graces for our own.”

Samba looks at him slowly, that smile still in place. Only now it has an edge, one that only those who know him best can see.


	14. Troubled - Satyavati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt, Halatinous: saline; salty

“Is there no end to it?” Satyavati wonders half to herself, half to the universe at large. It is safe enough to do so when she’s alone, away from her quietly disappointed daughters-in-law and Bhishma’s carefully measured patience. Alone she can survey maps of her lands - her kingdom! - and wonder if there is some joke at play among all her efforts to see Hastinapur flourish best of all.

Once she’d imagined an impervious fastness, a jewel to outshine even the stars themselves. Now Satyavati could only imagine something chasing the color from her dream, lining her efforts at new growth with salt before she’d finished sowing.

Or perhaps she only needed a new set of eyes on the matter. She could hardly afford to stop now, when her daughters-in-law needed heirs and Hastinapur required steadiness. The solution she had in mind could work - 

No, she reprimanded herself. It _would_ work. It had to, even if she had to carve the path herself as she once had. Even if the rope cut into her hands as it had with the fish, she would not let go and give up.


	15. Misunderstanding - Krishna & Jambavant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clearing his name of murder is shaping up to be a surprisingly interesting endeavor.

A battle was not what he had intended upon locating the cave where the lion which had killed Prasena had been taken. Finding the lion’s body had served as a surprise, and that is where Krishna supposed he’d unintentionally stepped wrong. His eye had caught the gleam of the Syamantaka Jewel and _missed_ the figures of children playing with it. Until the poor girl holding the gem had cried out, alarmed by his presence.

Jambavant still moved so _quickly_ despite his age. What Krishna saw of him before ducking away from the mace aimed at his head confirmed that his old friend hadn’t changed. Unfortunately there was no time for greetings. Jambavant wasted no time pursing him, tenacious as Krishna remembered.

“Is _this_ how you greet a guest?” Krishna called back, slipping around a corner just as Jambavant’s mace struck hard against the stone. He heard it crack behind him, could imagine well enough what such a blow might do if it connected. “I am flattered,” Krishna continued as he dove under a branching stalagmite. “But your lovely home should not bear the brunt of your frustration!”

Jambavant’s roar, which had struck fear into the hearts of Lanka’s asuras in another yuga, threatened to deafen him if he stayed too long within the caves. Turning back the way he’d come Krishna bolted for the exit, barely catching a glimpse of huddled figures lit by the Syamantaka’s radiance. The exit was as far as he got before he had to turn, deflecting Jambavant’s mace with his sword. It sent an ache up his arm to do it, a faint sting in his shoulder making itself known before the pain faded like it had never been. He smiled, quick and serene as he moved back into the open; side stepping and parrying instead of attacking back.

“You do not recognize me, friend?” He asked after they had made a circuit around the area leading towards the caves; dirt churned up around their feet and at least one tree uprooted by Jambavant’s attempts to wound him. Jambavant glowered at him in response, fur bristling as he braced himself to swing his mace once again.

“Why would I recognize a thief who attacked my daughter?” The king of bears retorted quietly, bringing the head of his mace down with all his strength. Krishna darted away, brows lifting as a small explosion of earthy debris kicked up where he’d been a moment ago.

“If you would just listen…” He mused, giving up on trying to talk sense into Jambavant at the moment. Adjusting his grip on his sword Krishna settled in, pressing forward to attack when Jambavant’s next swing went off-target. He drew a thin line of crimson along the other’s side, parting dark fur and flesh beneath in a cut that would sting more than actually hinder. A meager annoyance to one such as his old friend.

Well, _Rama’s_ old friend; technically.

* * *

“You might have told me.” Jambavant pointed out mournfully later; after a month’s constant battle and a thousand little nicks from Krishna’s blade had finally worn him down enough to listen. The clearing around them was reduced to a ruin, but the caves Jambavant and his family called home were unharmed; thankfully. Jambavant’s sonorous voice carried true regret as he added, “Had I known it was _you_ , Sri Ram, I would not have attacked.”

“You were defending your family.” Krishna reminded him gently, clasping one of Jambavant’s broad shoulders before letting go. “All is forgiven. Had I known tracking my quarry might lead me to you, I would have sent word.”

A half-lie, perhaps, but not one which needed explaining. Not now that he had what was needed to clear his name, without anyone being irreparably harmed in the process.


	16. Parting - Mohini/Iravan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If time could be stopped, let it be here. Let the world leave them alone and pass on without a sound.

“What can you possibly like about me?” Iravan asks, half drowsy. Dawn nearly spills across the tent but hasn’t yet grown into full sunlight. If Surya could be convinced to never rise then Mohini might bargain for it in less than a passing heartbeat.

“You’ve only known me for the night, even if you are a goddess.” Iravan’s eyes open and in this form, in this half-light, the irises of his eyes look perfectly black and fathomless. He looks at up at them in patient wonderment, waiting for their explanation before continuing, “I don’t believe that you honestly know me any better than a stranger.”

Mohini draws her fingers through his hair with much the same care as he’d done for her hours ago, mouth quirking as she considered what to say.

“I’m fond of that frank manner you possess.” Mohini tells him, the tip of one finger lightly brushing over a patch of green-black scales on his temple. “It’s refreshing. As your wife I might worry. A husband with such a cutting tongue must face hardship in the future.”

“It’s unlikely I’ll live that long.” He shifted, curling around them slowly as he laid on his side. The side of the tent had grown paler, silently announcing the inevitable. “But you haven’t answered my question.” Iravan pointed out. “Not entirely.”

Leaning down Mohini kissed him softly, smiling around the faint murmur of bemusement he let slip.

“Believe want you want.” Their lips brushed as she spoke and it tempted her with the want to keep him here, out of reach of what would come next. “Regardless, I chose you. I will always choose you. Let me help you get ready for the day, rather than say goodbye.”

“Sentiment.” He hummed against her mouth before kissing her far too lightly for her own taste. “But the honor would be mine. I’ll bring you glory, if nothing else.”

“You’ve already brought me much more than that.” Mohini corrected, willing the rays of Aditya’s light to go away as she pulled Iravan close.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these are general 'what-if's' and headcanons that have been slowly coming together over the past year. I have no basis for them besides personal interpretation, but I mean no disrespect to the figures involved. They are, as the title says, just little tales that bounce around and occasionally want to be told.


End file.
